Jailbreaks

Out on good behavior? I doubt it.

Folks, our son has entered yet another phase of maturity. The fourth wall, if you will, of his bed has been removed, and while a gate will exist to foil attempts at willfully crossing his very present threshold, what exists between himself and his world of toys (and my walk-in) is fine orange-hued air.

Throughout history and across many attended and gated boarders there have been many "great" escapes. In Ireland, in the early eighties, nearly 40 IRA inmates eluded Scotland Yard after taking guards hostage in their H-block and bypassing the 15 foot walls. This particular "joint" now has high wires positioned to prevent incoming helicopters after additional breakouts since. Another UK convict's accomplices positioned padlocks and screw-eyes to lock down guards to permit time to mysteriously pass beyond locked doors and 20 foot walls.

And, of course, there are the 14 escape attempts from the 34 inmates from Alcatraz most of whom were antipated and/or killed. However, there were those whom were never found. And those few who disappeared were, by default, believed to have been successful.

Toddlers are not put into high security prisons. They start out after settling into the walkability, by running away in the exploration of freedom and the celebration of finally being "fast" after months of being prone or reclined... subject to the whims of Mom or Dad, or whomever was permitted or interested in moving them. I have witness the many contraptions of Mama/Daddy wardens or guards in the form of those white plastic fences for kids, the excersaucers, the leash made to innocently portray a monkey backpack... the baby gate, the crib. Now, River has but one major manifestation of containment in the house (of the aforementioned list)... his baby gate. So, readers, beware of stories to come of night-marauding and heist; atleast someone in the house might be flattered by horizontal stripes.

Daddy's home

atlast, a talkative but placid babe whose first day of angst occured today amidst beautiful east coast heavy wet snow, was anxious until her Daddy returned home hungry for burgers and she hungry for Daddy's oil burner working-man smell. Doin' donuts in a mustang, throwin snowballs at undergrads, puttin the dog out in her sheep hair. It's a wonderful life indeed.

I wonder how Hank is? How I miss him, and please know, readers, don't ever be bullied into taking your cat away from your home... no matter how many .22's she has or how Dutchy she can behave.

A great woman and mentor, though sickeningly younger than I am (still in her twenties!), once told me that if she could lend one piece of maternal advice to all potential moms and those who have been at it for a while but who need all the help they can get, it would be this:

"pluck your eyebrows by day, in your rearview mirror. the kids are safe and immovable, and you have the natural light."

This reminds me of many things but one in particular. I recall driving from downtown Albuquerque to the Northeast Heights (nestled in Whiteness along the Sandia Mts.) to make my crew call of 6am at the house beside which Kevin Costner occasionally resided. We were filming a movie called War Boys. (http://www.thewarboys.com/) I would use my rearview or my visor mirror in my El Camino (my second, the blue one) to apply various bits of make-up to my eyes. This was horrendous for two reasons: I rarely put anything on my eyes other than a pair of Wayfarers (especially in PA winter glare), and I was only slightly attentive to the road. Why did a girl such as I who favor natural over painted do such disturbing things? Was it that she was opportunistically seeking to run into Mr. Costner at his mailbox? No, he certainly has an assistant to do such pedestrian tasks. Moreover, your author is not among the population of women who, since Bull Durham, fetishize Mr. Costner (see blogs written by Baby Boomers, please). Answer is, we must all practice out our stereotypical roles. I was also not a mother at that time (or I would have been sitting in my driveway plucking), though I wasn't far from initiation into the mothering role. In fact, it would be but one additional summer that I would be holding an unsoothable newborn in my arms watching the Beijing Olympics.

I guess my point is, ladies, live dangerously at times, but recognize that you will probably never meet Kevin Costner. Gents, live as simply and safely as possible... leave danger to woman. This way we can feed your bad jokes about women drivers!

It almost happened, well, two things almost happened: I almost didn't have linoleum under my downstairs carpets glued to my hardwood floor. Alas, there it was. Dad and I had painted the room.... as you may discern from the more golden hue of the room we're sitting together in. Not that I expect anyone to have memorized the coloration of the walls of my home. It was a two-day job, though it would have been ages longer had my Dad, former house-painter by Summer (teacher by every other season and sensibility), hadn't been "cutting in" and handling the more challenging details.
The other thing that almost happened was my commitment to attend an HGTV DesignStar casting call in Philly. Frankly, it could still happen, but the reality of it is that I have my own reality TV showcase here at home. My cast of miscreants and adoring fans; my family. Still, the headshots and application may serve as another self-reflection. Readers, keep posted... about removal of linoleum and television stardom.

chilly night

I recently read a blog from a Philly artist who discusses a familiar phenomenon of suffering the cold
while bringing life back to a damp, spacious warehouse space. She inquires upon what sacrifices folks
make for their artwork.
I would certainly use this conversation in scholastic art curriculum as it invokes the reality of what
varying degrees of commitments exist beyond the familiar and the "normal." For many, the sacrifices of
creating art entail not only the stereotypical (wealth, stature, and security) but also the more abstract (common ground,
familial support, comfort of dwelling/workspace).
Then, I had thought about heat and warmth when considering
this time of year. Last night I dropped a dear friend off beyond my home after a wine evening with great
local women-friends (my link to another rural Berks County community and the forty-something crowd).
I had become so engrossed in conversation with my passenger that I passed several fueling opportunities
and began returning home with my fuel gauge dropped below E. The heat the surged through my body as
I attempted to read my car's signals, was I SLOWING!!!!, warmed my body to immeasurable temperatures,
and I thought about the monastic rituals of self - regulation.
My advice to the arts community in the Philly and more cold climate warehouse populations is to allow
that adrenaline to peak and, to make love... lots of it. Hormones are a great inner furnace!

You may check out the article at: http://www.handmadeinpa.net/2011/01/when-its-chilly/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+HandmadeInPa+%28handmade+in+PA%29

heavy things

River's little cough is weakening and being replaced by the ever-present roar. My thesis proposal is
coming along in powerful surges. The yard is finally free, almost, of heavy scrap materials from Ryan's
business refuse. I helped him to lift a beastly compressor of sorts into my Baja and from my Baja into
his service truck. We celebrated by his comment that I didn't bother him by rather surprise him with
my aplomb.

Another small countdown

River has become captive to his cousin's fever and cough, so his waking hours are odd.
It tore up my heart to refuse to watch a movie with him that his Dad started at 5am.
After his pleas lost their volume, he asked to be taken back to bed; which relieved
everyone including Fern. The two babes still sleep now, and I will have to wait to see
how the dosages of Elderberry, Tylenol, Vitamin D drops, et al have helped.
Now that the holidays and their attached weekends are passed, I must return to my little
personal deadlines. The primary one being the completion of my Master's Thesis Proposol,
which I had intended to complete during the Summertime. I will begin from scratch, with
my notes and kept ideas, and type through with a new sense of clarity unclouded by the
final months of pregnancy during a record-breakingly hot summer (my excuse for this summer's incompletion).
Thankfully, one goal that I have already begun to achieve is to dedicate more time playing
games, building puzzles, and reading to the babes (River in particular).